The stories behind the buildings, statues and other points of interest that make Manhattan fascinating.

Wednesday, November 20, 2013

The Hungarian Reformed Church -- 121 East 7th Street

photo by Alice Lum

It was not until after the unsuccessful Hungarian Revolution
of 1848-1849 that the first real wave of Hungarian immigrants began arriving in
New York City.But by the 1870’s there
were more than 10,000 Hungarians in Manhattan living in, for the most part, the
Lower East Side and the Yorkville neighborhood further uptown.

The Lower East Side, once a fashionable residential
neighborhood of Federal and Greek Revival homes, was now an immigrant district
often called Kleindeutchland—or “Little Germany.”Here
the new Hungarian immigrants lived peacefully shoulder-to-shoulder with the
Germans. In 1895 a small group founded
The First Hungarian Reformed Church, or New York-i Első
Magyar Református Egyház.After
worshiping in temporary spaces for a few years, the congregation sought out a
permanent structure.

The old house at No. 121 East 7th Street
had been built shortly after Daniel Burnett bought the property in 1843.Now, on May 10, 1902, The New York Times reported
that the Hungarian Reformed Church had purchased the dwelling.The group hired architect and builder
Frederick Ebeling to convert the structure to a church building.

The building was consecrated in 1903.Within the next year Ebeling extended church
to the property line and incorporated a central bell tower characteristic of a Hungarian
country church.The quaint little church
had a comfortable, overall charm.And yet there was little to hide the fact that
this was a house-turned-church.

photo by Alice Lum

The church’s pastor, Rev. Zoltan Kuthy, awarded The
Medal of Virtue each year to the two congregants who best exhibited true
virtue.Kuthy’s three qualifications
were that the winners must “be pure of thought, word and deed; must be of
careful life in his habits; must be loyal to his church.”

Reverend Kuthy felt that attaining virtue should
not be all that difficult for his Hungarian flock.“You see, the real Magyars are naturally
good,” he told The Sun on June 2, 1912.He
said “as a race they are loving, law abiding and not a roistering people.”

The winner of the medal that year tended to disagree.Michael Garan had attempted to win the prize
since 1909.Finally he held it.“I try, oh, so hard, to be good, but to be
good is not easy,” he told a reporter.

photo by Byron Company from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UAYWBZMW2C&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=915

Unfortunately, other congregants disagreed about
which member was most virtuous.When the
names were leaked a few days before the presentation, an uproar erupted.On May 25, 1912 The Sun reported “Then two
other members of the congregation let it be known that they were the most
charitable and kindly of the First Hungarian Reformed flock and would prove it
by beating the pastor and the recipients of the medal.”

Police from the 5th Street police
station lined the sanctuary on Sunday May 24.Reverend Zoltan had asked “for assistance in case other charitable and
kindly men should start something,” said the newspaper.

“Capt. Ormsby assured the pastor that he would have
uniformed policemen in the church, well up toward the pulpit, to see that the
friends of the disappointed candidates for charitable and kindly distinction do
not rend the garments of peace during the services.”

A misguided congregation decades later would encase the stone facade in artificial stone -- photo by Alice Lum

By 1914 the growing congregation and the stiflingly-crowded
Lower East Side neighborhood prompted the First Hungarian Reformed Church to
move uptown.A plot was purchased at
344 East 69th Street and Hungarian-born architect Emery Roth set to
work designing a new, larger structure—including the iconic central bell tower.The new building was completed in 1916 and
the congregation said good-bye to its house-turned church on East 7th
Street.

The old building was purchased by the
cumbersomely-named Christian Orthodox Catholic Church of the Eastern Confession
in North America.It became home to the Holy Resurrection
Church and it would not be long before trouble ensued.

A year after moving into the new church, Evdokim
Meschersky planned a trip to Russia.Meschersky, too, had an unwieldy title:“Archbishop of the Ecclesiastic Consistory of the Russian Orthodox Greek
Catholic Church, and the Archbishop of the Russian Orthodox Greek Catholic
Church, and the Archbishop of the Russian Orthodox Greek Catholic Church of
North America.”

As his trip neared, on August 17, 1917 he appointed
Vladimir Rykhloff “temporary rector” and priest of Holy Resurrection Church.When the
archbishop returned a year later, his temporary replacement was apparently not
overjoyed to see him.

With both men claiming the title of archbishop, an
ugly tug-of-war ensued.Court papers claimed
that Rykhloff “has refused to vacate the church and to cease officiating as a
rector and priest thereof.”No matter
what Meschersky did, his underling continued officiating as though he were
pastor of the congregation.The frustrated
archbishop was finally forced to take matters to the courts in November 1918.The case would drag on for months.

In 1935 the building was sold to the Russian
Orthodox St. Peter and Paul Church.That
the Lower East Side neighborhood was still highly-ethnic was reflected in the
colorful funeral that took place in the church on July 20, 1938.

The funeral cortege of Louis De Metro, described by
The New York Times as a “20-year old member of a gypsy tribe,” brought vehicles
to a standstill.“Traffic on Avenue A,
First Avenue and on Seventh and Eighth Streets, between Avenue A and First Avenue,
was impeded for a time while the cortege moved along,” said the newspaper.

“Crowds of curious, who had read of the prayerful
vigil kept by the youth’s friends outside Bellevue Hospital, lined the streets
as the body was carried by members of the family and friends to Russian
Orthodox St. Peter and Paul Church, 121 East Seventh Street, where the funeral
service was conducted by the Very Rev. Alexander J. Chechila, the pastor.”

Many of the mourners were attired in “gypsy
costume,” and a ten-piece ensemble played a dirge on the street outside the church.

photo by Alice Lum

The pastor was embarrassed when his 26-year old
daughter was the subject of messy publicity a few years later.On New
Year’s Day 1942 The Times reported on the dueling lawsuits between Olga Chechila
and 49-year old jewelry executive Harry S. Fischer.

Fischer lived in the penthouse apartment at No. 737
Park Avenue and on December 23 had given a party for “two men friends.”The get-together ended in what The Times
called “a fracas.”While Olga told
police that Fischer had stolen $1,000 in cash from her—money she had withdrawn
from a bank as a Christmas present to her father; Fischer accused her of
stealing a $3,200 diamond ring.She
insisted he had loaned her the ring “to wear at the party.”

Both parties were released on bail awaiting a
hearing.

In1961, when St. Mary’s American Orthodox Greek
Catholic Church purchased the building, the congregation thought it a good idea
to modernize the structure by encasing Ebeling’s stone façade in “Naturestone;”
an artificial stone material.

It was not a good idea.

Despite the offensive make-over the little house-turned
church retains its charm; a relic of a time when foreign-speaking immigrants
drew together in a new land to worship together.